


close to godliness

by santanico



Category: Elementary (TV)
Genre: F/F, Letters, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-27 11:03:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/santanico/pseuds/santanico
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Irene sends Joan letters from prison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	close to godliness

“You’ve got mail.”

Joan notices as soon as he says it, that something is off in Sherlock’s voice. She frowns but doesn’t ask, figuring he’s probably had a long day – they haven’t spoken yet but she’s sure they will after dinner. “Thanks,” she says instead, stepping into the kitchen and looking at the pile of mail. There’s a magazine that’s been wrongly delivered to their door that she sets aside, and then four individually sealed, colored envelopes. They’re the small kind, like you would fit letters or postcards in. She frowns and sets them aside without taking a closer look, and continues to thumb her way through the mail.

“…Have you not even gotten the mail for almost a week?” Joan says, incredulous as she frowns at the paper which is dated for the previous Sunday. “Sherlock?” she asks, more sharply when he doesn’t answer. He’s rummaging through the freezer, his head nearly entirely buried inside. “Hey. You don’t have something deadly in there that’s going to eat us, do you?”

“I hope not.” His voice is muffled and she rolls her eyes.

“Remember to get the mail every day, okay?”

There’s a grunt. Joan sighs and finally picks up the envelopes. She turns them over, and there’s no return address. Just her name in blue ink, the address, and a stamp in the corner. They’re all written in the same handwriting, a simple scrawl that looks carefully done. Joan undoes the seal and pulls out the paper inside – three stiff sheets, folding together precisely.

The top of the first page reads _Dearest Joan_ is slanted handwriting, the same as on the envelope. Joan scans the letter and begins to feel horror bubble up in her chest. It goes onto the back of the page, and then the second page, and finally the third. At the very end of the back of the third piece of paper, it’s signed in thick letters, a different ink but the same hand.

_Yours, Irene_

No use of ‘Adler’ or ‘Moriarty’. Just a simple Irene. 

Joan swallows. 

“Something the matter?” Sherlock calls from the freezer. Joan clears her throat but her hands are unsteady. She blinks down at the paper and considers their contents. Mentions of deeply blue skies and very dark sunsets. How Irene has contemplated her own jail time and misses the elaborate hairstyles she would have done at a salon in London. How the letters will take some time, considering she’s not in an American prison, but she certainly hopes that Joan will enjoy reading them.

“Sherlock…”

Something in her voice must alert Sherlock, because he automatically stands and closes the freezer, shaking his head as if his hair is full of dust. He blinks at her and frowns before stepping forward, and Joan smiles weakly at his concern before handing him the first page of the letter.

She tears open the second without a thought as Sherlock begins to scan the page. His expression doesn’t change much as he reads, and Joan looks at the second letter. The same number of pages, and the words are similar, or at least bare the same meaning. _Oh, how I’ve missed you! And you’ll have to let Sherlock know that I’m doing alright. Slow days, but the days pass on anyway. Perhaps I will see you both again. Perhaps you can pay me a visit. My captures._ Joan isn’t sure if the writing intends to convey sarcasm. It’s followed, this time, but a _Yours truly, Irene Adler_.

“She has wonderful handwriting, hasn’t she?” Sherlock muses, dropping the paper casually. “How many did she send?”

Joan shoots him a look. “Four.” She checks the other two unopened envelopes and surely enough, the handwriting is the same. “Yeah, four. Probably three pages in these too, right?”

“Certainly.”

“Do you think she’s planning something? She couldn’t possibly…” Joan trails off. Irene – Moriarty, she corrects herself, shaking her head – had been smart, but she wasn’t a level of genius that she’d be able to orchestrate murder or danger for Sherlock and Joan from across the ocean.

“Oh, no,” Sherlock says, and he sounds certain. He’s smiling. “She just likes you.” He folds up the paper and begins to put them back in the envelopes.

“What are you doing?” Joan asks, frowning as he takes the envelopes and crosses to the other side of the kitchen. “Hey…”

“You understand why I destroyed her letters now, I presume?”

Joan swallows and hesitates. 

“I’ll take care of them,” she says, holding out her hand. Sherlock frowns but he obediently rests the envelopes in her open palm.

“If you say so.”


End file.
